


She Wears Short Skirts

by tryslora



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, Gratuitous Abuse of Taylor Swift Lyrics, Guilty Pleasures, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-03 15:59:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13999611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: "Her music's a guilty pleasure. It's not that I like her-- Fine. Yeah. It's catchy."





	She Wears Short Skirts

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains several references to Taylor Swift songs and lyrics. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> I have no idea where in canon this would fit in. So let's just pretend there's a good place for it.

  
[IMG: Pink sticky note with "HELLO, DEAN"] 

“Hang on a sec.” Dean puts his thumb over the mic on his phone, reaches down to pick up the note stuck to the hardwood floor of the library. His brow furrows. “Cas?”

An indignant squawk in his ear, and he moves his thumb quickly. “What? No. Fuck, of course not. There’s no girl here. Cas is a guy. A friend guy.” Dean winces at the steady stream of fury, pulling the phone away from his ear until the words are indistinct.

Maybe it’ll go better if he just lets her anger run its course. It’s not like they had a relationship anyway.

Well, not like Dean thought they did. Apparently she did.

Might be time to retire this phone number once the job’s done.

“Dean!” She’s shrieking, strident enough to hear even six inches from his head.

“What?” he shouts back, bringing the phone closer. “Jesus, the devil himself could hear you screaming.” Which is a whole other can of worms that Dean’s just not going to get into. “We weren’t—” He pauses, letting her talk again. “I didn’t mean—”

He might as well just give up and let her go, because doesn’t seem like she’s going to stop railing at him any time soon. Besides, he probably deserves it. He sighs, nods a few times until he remembers that she can’t see him, so he starts making little affirmative noises in the pauses between her words. _Uh-huh. Yeah. No, I get it. Whatever. Yeah. No, you’re right. Fine. Good. Fine. Okay._

It ends when she emphatically says, “And I never want to see you again.”

He doesn’t even get the chance to agree before she hangs up.

Well, fuck.

Or not, since apparently that action is now closed down.

He spots the pink flash on the concrete floor in the hall, walks out and crouches down, lifting the note.

  
[IMG: Pink sticky note with "ARE YOU ALL RIGHT, DEAN?"] 

What the fuck is this, anyway?

“Yeah, Cas, I’m fine. Did you get a new hobby? Brand new stack of post-its and couldn’t wait to test them out?” He folds the two he has and tucks them in his pocket, then starts heading for the bedrooms.

Because it’s not like Cas is right here with him, yeah? Not like he’s listening. Jesus fucking Christ, now Dean’s talking to himself. Or Cas might be listening, he listens when Dean prays, right? He rakes a hand through his hair, shoves both hands into his pockets. “Look, Cas, did you want me for something? You okay?”

Because now that Dean thinks about it, this is really weird behavior.

He rounds the corner, and there’s another splash of pink on the floor. Dean crouches down to collect the note.

  
[IMG: Pink sticky note with "I'M FINE"] 

“Okay then,” Dean mutters. “Something’s going on in that angel head of yours, Cas.” He stays in the crouch, stares down the hall, brow furrowed. “What is it?”

He pushes to his feet, goes slower this time. Measured steps, as if he’s going to spot Cas before he finds the next pink note, just outside of his room.

  
[IMG: Pink sticky note with "I AM WORRIED ABOUT YOU"] 

“There’s nothing to worry about.” Dean folds the notes, shoves them in his pocket with the first two before he raps against the door. “Cas, open up.”

The door creaks when it opens; Cas stands on the other side, blocking the way in. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean takes a step, and when Cas doesn’t move, Dean nudges into him. “Am I invited in?”

Cas steps back, makes enough space for Dean to get through. It’s not that Dean wants to be in his room. It’s not that he wants to invade his space. “I just want to know what’s going on, Cas,” he says, voice low.

“You were arguing with….” Cas trails off, frowning deeply.

“Shannon,” Dean reminds him, as if Cas hadn’t met her just last week, when Dean bumped into her while they were out.

“Shannon, yes. She wears short skirts.” Cas pauses after saying the words, and Dean motions with his hand for Cas to finish, but it seems he already has.

“Yeah, well, she’s got good assets for short skirts,” Dean agrees. “And yeah, she’s pissed off at me. Was pissed off at me. Pretty sure she’s done with me now.”

Cas nods sagely. “I don’t have a window into your room. Leaving you these notes was the best I could do.”

Dean is absolutely positive that whatever Cas is saying is just out of reach. That he’s expected to understand something in this conversation that he’s just not getting. “Okay…” he says slowly.

“You like Taylor Swift,” Cas explains. He gestures at the laptop open on his desk, a block of pink sticky notes next to it, along with a notebook filled with his careful writing. “It’s her most popular video. I watched all of them on YouTube. Her music is very catchy. It gets—” He motions at his ear, and Dean gets the point of that at least.

“It’s an ear worm.”

“Ear… worm?” Cas looks dubious. “There are no worms, Dean.”

“Not the point. Her music’s a guilty pleasure. It’s not that I like her—” Dean cuts off at the look Cas gives him, and yeah, he knows the definition of _guilty pleasure_ just as much as Cas does. “Fine. Yeah. It’s catchy.” It’s the most he’s going to say out loud, anyway.

“It’s her most popular video, Dean,” Cas says quietly.

Dean knows which video he means now. He’s seen it a few times, maybe. Hell, he might have even seen a few covers of it, like that acapella group with all the guys. He swallows at Cas’s earnest expression, because he’s pretty sure Cas doesn’t mean it like that.

He’s just trying to cheer Dean up.

“Yeah, Cas. It’s a really popular video. So?” Dean takes a step toward the door, because he has things to do, and there are times when he wonders if Cas can read his mind. He prays to the dude, right? But that’s out loud, and he knows Cas hears him when he does that.

He’s not sure Cas reading his mind would be a healthy thing. There’s shit in there Cas probably doesn’t want to see.

Cas’s shoulders slump, and something small and pink and crumpled falls to the ground at his feet. “As long as you’re fine,” Cas says quietly. “Without Shannon.”

Dean licks his lips, nods once. “Yeah, Cas, I’m fine. She’s—we weren’t really much of anything. Fuckbuddies.” He winces at the clear disapproval in Cas’s furrowed glare. “I thought we were both on board with that, turns out she wasn’t. So I fucked up, yeah, and she’s pissed off. But I’m fine. Okay, Cas?”

Cas hesitates, glances back at the laptop like it somehow contains the answers to everything. “Okay, Dean,” he agrees. “Perhaps you’d best go.”

Dean’s fucked up, and he’s not even sure how. “Yeah, okay,” he agrees, nodding again and feeling like some kind of fucked-up bobblehead doll. He grips the door handle, yanks it open, and when Cas says nothing more, he steps out.

He makes it halfway to his room when he spots it, the crumpled up piece of pink paper that’s kicked to the side. He crouches down, smoothes it flat, and it sticks to the concrete floor, just like the other notes before it.

  
[IMG: Pink sticky note with "I LOVE YOU, DEAN"] 

Shit. What?

Dean keeps the note in his hand as he stalks back to Cas’s room, pounds on the closed door. “Cas!”

“Go away, Dean.” Cas’s voice has the echoes of music behind it: _haters gonna hate…._

“Do not try to drown me out with Taylor Swift, Cas!” Dean bellows. “I found your note!” His voice lowers, gentles. “Cas, just open the fucking door, okay?”

The music stops abruptly. The door scrapes open. “I did not send you that note, Dean.” Cas’s expression is a blank, inscrutable mask. Dean’s seen it more than once, but never directed at him. Never like this.

Dean holds it up between both hands, like a miniature sign in front of his heart. “Going to deny you wrote it, Cas? It’s your handwriting.”

Cas licks his lips. Says nothing.

“Is that what this was all about?” Dean gestures at the laptop, the pile of notes. “Some kind of Taylor Swift inspired love confession?”

“No,” Cas says, gaze dropping down and to the left. “Of course not, Dean. You were upset. I merely wanted to—”

“Cheer me up, yeah, I got that.” Dean crowds forward, just enough to get into Cas’s personal space. His throat is dry as he holds up the note. “Know what would cheer me up?”

Cas raises his gaze to meet Dean’s, and Dean reads hope in his expression.

At least Dean really prays he reads hope there, because if not, this is going to fuck everything up beyond all belief.

“What’s that, Dean?”

Dean’s voice is hoarse, rough as he tries to get the words out. “Cas.” He coughs. “Yeah, what would really cheer me up right now is if what I’m looking for has been here the whole time.”

Cas blinks, and Dean thinks maybe he got it wrong. Or maybe Cas just isn’t following, maybe Dean’s being too—then Cas smiles, bright and wide, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“She wears short skirts, Dean,” Cas says, the smile never fading.

“You don’t wear t-shirts, Cas. The analogy kind of falls apart there.” Dean takes another cautious step forward. “Do you mean it? Because don’t fuck with me here.”

The smiles falls away abruptly. “I would never fuck with you, Dean,” Cas says solemnly. “Although I do believe this is where one of us would—or possibly should—fuck the other. Eventually. It may take time. A relationship isn’t built on a single—”

Dean cuts him off with a kiss. “I love you too, Cas,” he murmurs against his lips. “We’ll figure out the rest. And maybe next time we can leave Taylor Swift out of it.”

“She doesn’t have the best track record with relationships,” Cas murmurs back, before kissing him again. “We can do better.”

It’s been years, and it’s taken them this long to get here, but Dean’s praying it doesn’t end too soon. “We already have.” He nudges Cas into the room, kicks the door shut behind them. Whatever comes next is just for them.

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all should check out all the wonderful things being written for [SPN Coldest Hits](http://spncoldesthits.tumblr.com/post/171739589875/guilty-pleasures-march-prompt-posting-dates)'s March prompt of Guilty Pleasures.


End file.
